


falling in love at a coffee shop

by impravidus



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Baristas, Coffee Shops, Fluff, Genius Peter Parker, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Smart Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23039413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impravidus/pseuds/impravidus
Summary: They didn’t mean to fall for each other, but that’s just what they did.~coffee shop au~
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 42
Kudos: 518
Collections: Parkner Coffee Shop Collection, Peter Parker Stories, The Best Harley Keener & (or /) Peter Parker Fics, The Best Irondad/Spiderson Fics, ellie marvel fics - read





	1. harley

Peter Parker comes into Beanies everyday. On Mondays and Tuesdays, he comes at 3:47PM. On Wednesdays and Fridays he comes at 2:02. On Thursdays he comes at exactly noon. On Saturdays and Sundays, he comes as soon as it opens and leaves sporadically throughout the day, but always makes it back as soon as the lunch rush dies down.

Peter Parker also happens to always come during Harley’s shifts. He doesn’t know if it is pure coincidence, or if he does it on purpose, but he knows that the by the time he clocks in, Peter Parker is sitting on the peach couch by the window with his laptop and glasses rested dangerously close to the tip of his nose, sitting criss cross applesauce with his laptop on a pillow in his lap.

When Peter Parker sees Harley is behind the counter, he always looks up, as if he knows he’s there. When there is no one ordering, he puts his laptop down and goes up to the register and asks for the same thing. 

“One cinnamon streusel coffee cake and a hot chocolate with a spoonful of caramel, extra whipped cream.”

Harley doesn’t hear Peter Parker talk much, but he knows his order by heart. By now, he just gives him a soft smile and a “the usual?” to which Peter nods quietly, a bright toothy grin on his lips.

Harley knows that Beanies isn’t anything special. There’s a Starbucks in the center of campus, and he knows for a fact that unless you’re a music or theatre major, Beanies is out of the way. He also knows that Peter Parker is not a music major, nor a theatre major. He was in his Computational Linear Algebra and Multivariate Calculus classes, and, no offense to the fine arts, but he doesn’t think that they  _ need _ to take those courses. 

He also knows that Peter Parker is a big name in the engineering school. His biomedical engineering research was published his freshman year, and he’s on the road to getting a procedure named after him. His work on hypermetabolic blood cell research was on the cusp of saving millions of lives, and he was barely into his second year.

Peter Parker is an enigma. Despite his outstanding resume, he is reserved and humble. More often than not, Harley has found Peter Parker being bombarded at his spot on the couch by students struggling to grasp the concepts. And, to Harley’s surprise, Peter never turned them now. He puts down everything he is working on and skims over the equations or passages and replies with an explanation. 

He can always find the perfect balance between jargon and layman’s terms. It’s downright impressive the way he could craft the perfect definition to make anyone understand even the toughest subjects. And it didn’t take him long. 

There are rumors about Peter Parker. Some say that his hypermetabolic blood cell research is made from his own super-blood. They say that he has super-intelligence along with his super-blood. Others say that he is the secret child of Tony Stark. The whispers of campus claim that they saw the billionaire moving the teen into his dorm. They claim it is the only logical explanation for his superior intellect. 

Harley doesn’t buy into the rumors. Peter Parker just seemed so… normal? 

He eats a lot throughout the day. Harley assumes it’s a stress thing, though he doesn’t seem to be gaining major weight. Along with his usual order, he has tasted almost everything on the menu, though he tended to lean towards the paninis and soups. 

“You should dip your panini into the tomato soup. You’ll never eat it plain again,” Harley once told him. He watched in anticipation as Peter curiously dunked the ham and cheese sandwich in the steaming soup, his eyes going wide as he took a bite, closing when he let out a satisfied hum.

When he opened them again, he made eye contact with Harley who gave him a thumbs and a raised brow to which he responded with his signature grin and an ecstatic nod. 

Today, Harley watches Peter with a lovestruck smile as he dipped his panini into his soup, fanning his mouth when he realizes it’s too hot. He has a large agave lemonade, no ice. Harley knew that he preferred his drinks with no ice. Another worker made the mistake of giving it to him with ice, and he was shivering in his spot, even with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Harley went to the back and grabbed his thick flannel and gave it to the shivering teen. His mouth slightly agape in surprise responded with a meek “thank you” before slipping it on and relaxing in his spot.

When Peter tried to return it to him, he told him that “it suits you” and told him to “keep it” to which Peter blushed and nodded, exiting the cafe.

Harley is a couple sizes larger than Peter. He never really filled them out, but his height required larger clothes. So, Peter, who he saw in the cafe quite often, sat on his couch, swimming in his flannel, the sleeves falling past his fingertips. 

Peter pulls out his phone and stares at it expectantly. It suddenly buzzes to life, Peter smiling and answering.

“Hey, May. How are you today?”

May calls Peter often. Harley can see the way that Peter softens when he sees she’s calling. He’s not sure who May is, but he knows she means a lot to Peter. 

At first he thought she was a girlfriend, but that theory was soon gone once he caught Peter saying “but it’s kinda your fault that I’m this way. I mean, you _are_ the one that raised me.”  
An older sister? An aunt? A completely unrelated guardian? He didn’t know, but he’d love to learn.

There’s another person who calls Peter regularly. At first, Harley didn’t realize they were the same person, but the way that Peter addressed them as “Grandpa” and “Dad” with a sarcastic drawl, he realized that this may be the same person. However, the name does slip sometimes. “Tony.” Just more fuel for the rumors.

They talk in code. To an outside listener, it may not sound like code, but Harley can tell that there is deeper meaning to the things they say.

He throws around the words “rounds” a lot. Harley still doesn’t know what they mean. He thinks it’s community service. It usually entails helping the elderly and ‘cleaning up the streets.’ 

They also have lots of codes. Some are colors. Some are numbers and letters. Some are numbers and letters  _ and  _ colors. They all mean something else, and some are good, and some are very bad.

Sometimes Peter leaves in a hurry when he’s on a call with “Tony.” His face drops and he packs his stuff and books it out of the cafe. Harley doesn’t know what that means. Usually those are code red and blue.

But today was not one of those days. After his call with “May,” he gets a call moments later from “Tony.” 

“Bothering me again, old man?” Peter asks. He laughs a bubbly laugh, probably in response to an equally sarcastic response. “Red and blue?” His face goes stoic for a moment, but morphs back into his jubilant smile. “Oh, good. You just can’t get enough of my exuberance.” He drums his fingers on his thigh. “Yeah, yeah. I’m almost done with Mark LVI. It’s gonna be tubular.” He pauses. “Yes, tubular  _ is _ back in style and  _ no _ , I don’t care how old and cringey it makes you feel.”

Harley didn’t mean to fall for Peter Parker, but it was hard not to. He’s kind and intelligent and selfless and undeniably attractive. He was always polite when he ordered and on the off chance they had a casual conversation, he knew that he was falling faster. 

Harley didn’t mean to fall for Peter Parker, but that’s just what he did.


	2. peter

He didn’t mean to come to Beanies, it just happened. 

He remembers when he first had his tour around the campus, Beanies was always overlooked. “Just go to Starbucks,” his tour guides had said. “No one goes to Beanies.”

And  _ that _ is what made it so perfect.

Beanies is quiet. His tour guides were right. No one _ does  _ come into Beanies. Apparently their coffee is bland and their iced coffees are watery and their lattes were overly foamy. However, Peter doesn’t drink coffee, so it wasn’t a problem for him. 

He likes their hot chocolate. He knows that it’s probably just Swiss Miss and that’s what makes it so good, but they make it with extra cocoa powder so the concoction wasn’t too thin. They have good whipped cream and they always put the right amount of caramel into his drink.

Well, not “ _ they.” _ Harley.

Harley Keener works in Beanies every day of the week. He isn’t part of any clubs or extracurriculars because he  _ needs _ to be at Beanies. The pay he gets from his shifts goes to his tuition and he  _ really _ needs that money.

Peter isn’t supposed to know that, but he heard Harley having a conversation with his boss about getting paid overtime and his boss mentioned it offhandedly.

Harley Keener didn’t always love working at Beanies. It’s a pretty dull job and it used to play the crappiest vapid pop music. That was until someone else was in charge of the playlist.

Peter caught sight of Harley checking the phone connected to the speaker several times during his shift and realized that the new playlist was Harley Keener’s doing. 

When he first heard the playlist, he knew that it wasn’t Harley’s first choice of music. He had gotten glimpses of his other playlists and they seemed to be primarily country music. The music he did choose was under the Soundcloud name “chill out” with the good soft, mainly instrumental low-fi and beats. 

Peter liked the music he picked. The ones he particularly liked, he bobbed his head along, swaying to the mellow tunes. He thinks Harley must’ve taken notice to the pattern because soon after, the music changed to suit Peter’s particular taste. He also noticed the playlist’s name: for him.

But, the thing that Peter likes the most about Harley’s music is that it’s his. Harley hums along when he’s making drinks and sitting behind the counter when it’s slow. And his voice? It’s beautiful.

Harley Keener’s voice is like his caramel hot cocoa, warm and smooth and always there to soothe him. His rumbling vibrato feels like the air whipping beneath his feet. 

He hums quietly. Quiet enough that no one but Peter can hear it. And that just made it even more special when he did.

There was something so special about Harley Keener’s voice. It was gentle and soft yet also filled with rich, dark maturity. Peter could tell that he had listened to these songs thousands of times and was no stranger to each of the tunes. He knew them inside and out and could hum along without evening thinking about it.

But he also changes the playlist quite often. Almost every day, there are new songs on the playlist. Or maybe the playlist was just longer than Peter had expected. Each song brings something new to his day and makes him smile.

“What’s this song called?” Peter asked Harley one day.

“One day the rain will end,” Harley replied. “By liamthetree.”

“And it’s on Soundcloud?”

Harley nodded, scanning his bag of kettle chips. “Yup.”

“Cool.” 

As Peter was heading back to his seat, Harley hesitantly asked, “So you like it?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

Harley Keener is a charismatic young man. He effortlessly makes a connection with each customer that comes in, and no matter the rush they may be in or the impatience and annoyance that may fester, they look forward to talking to Harley. Peter has learned a lot from the snippets of conversations he has with the people who come in.

They’re mostly theatre or music students coming between classes who vent about the latest in class monologue preparation or theory tests. Harley seems to know a lot about it. They babble about Stanislavski and DiOrio. They share gossip about the recent cast lists or complain about the twenty-five minute “Gloria.” 

Peter has deduced that Harley used to be of that world in another life. He knows a lot about the “Sondheim’s leitmotifs” and “Whitacre’s dissonance.” He can recognize the cast of characters of every show a customer may bring up and knows the actor’s names by heart. Peter has tried to build up the courage to ask Harley to go to one of the shows with him, but figured he would never understand it the way Harley does.

Harley is smart. He asked a lot of questions in Multivariate Calculus, but he knew that it wasn’t because he had the questions, but because he was the only one with the confidence to ask. He would hear the whispers around him asking for him to project their questions to the professor. He admired that. 

Peter has seen Harley around the campus parking lots. He helps people fix their cars because, well, on a undergrad student’s budget, it isn’t the easiest investment to get your engine checked. Peter thinks it’s a second job for Harley because usually people pay him after he does his work, though it’s not nearly as much as it would be at somewhere professional.

Harley has a lot of extra jobs around campus. He is one of the highest acclaimed research paper editors. He is a harsh editor, but explains every edit that he makes, and he doesn’t spoon-feed the answers. His assistance almost always guarantees at least a ten percent grade boost. He had a way with words that Peter could never understand.

When Peter tried to talk to Harley, he stumbled over his words. There was something about his messy dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes and toned forearms shown from his rolled up flannels that made Peter’s heart leap. He had the swoon-worthy smile that, not exaggerating, glittered under the soft fluorescent light. (Okay maybe exaggerating  _ a little. _ ) 

And, man, if his laugh wasn’t the most addicting sound that existed, then Peter didn’t know what was. It was like his laugh was designed to send endorphins shooting through his brain and heart racing like a stab of epinephrine. 

“Going for a new look?” Harley had once asked as he caught sight of Peter’s mishmashed outfit.

“It’s laundry day and the honors dorm laundry room was full,” Peter explained, face flushing as he looked down at his MIT sweatshirt and Hello Kitty pajama pants.

“Well, there’s gotta be a story for those, right? Unless there isn’t and Hello Kitty is your jam and your lack of loyalty to our wonderful school is story enough,” he said with a playful smirk.

“My, uh, my dad went to MIT and he gave me these pajama pants when I was fourteen.”

“Ah, sentimental value.” He stirred his spoonful of caramel gently. “And you decided that you didn’t want to be a legacy to one of the most prestigious schools in the US?” 

“New York is where I should be. Everything I’ve got is here and I can’t leave that.”

“New York is pretty nice,” Harley said, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I wanted to get the hell out of my hometown. My heart’s too big for hicktown Tennessee. I wanted to see the world, or at least, anything but the worn down shops of Rose Hill and the miles of fields that followed them.”

“Tennessee?” Peter asked.

“Born an’ raised. It’s a nice place, but I think I was always meant to be in the city.”

“Or at least, not in Rose Hill.”

“Exactly!” Harley topped his hot chocolate with a big swirl of whipped cream. “Caramel drizzle today?”

“Not today,” Peter responded bashfully.

“New York’s got a lot of great things. Lots of great people.” He lingered his gaze on Peter a little too long. “That’ll be…”

“$9.50. Here ya go.”

Harley is checking his watch a lot today. He’s waiting for something, though Peter doesn’t quite know what for. He also keeps looking over at Peter with a nervous lip bite. 

The hairs on Peter’s necks stand up. Something is wrong. He answers his phone uneasily.

“Red and blue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to chat, my Tumblr is [@official-impravidus](official-impravidus.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you want to join a Parkner Discord, click [here!](https://discord.gg/vztSVpg)


	3. harley and peter

Peter hasn’t come into Beanies for a while. Two and a half weeks to be exact. To be honest, a lot of people haven’t been in Beanies since it all happened.

The news is calling it an extraterrestrial negotiation. First there was the invasion. Or, at least, what seemed like an invasion. Hundreds of different alien spaceships landed in the vast deserts of New Mexico. For miles, it was blockaded by SHIELD agents, but the news outlets got video of the humongous ships zooming through the sky, and the public have been in a panic since.

The masses have fled to their homes in fear of a new alien threat to Earth. Though the constant reassurance from the media and the Avengers, everyone has been waiting with bated breath for things to escalate.

An intergalactic peace treaty. That’s what they are saying they are signing. They say it’s the necessary step to bring peace amongst the different branches of galaxies. And Harley? Well, Harley doesn’t know how to feel.

The last thing on his brain should be Peter, considering the fact that there were hundreds of warring alien species temporarily residing on Earth. But, well, he couldn’t help it.

He had finally built up the courage to ask Peter out, but “red and blue” called him out of the cafe, and then he most likely left when the first report came in. 

Harley doesn’t really have much of a choice when it comes to staying in New York or going home to his family. The cheapest tickets are $400 with the impending crisis, and he definitely doesn’t have that kind of cash lying around.

So, here he is, tapping his fingers anxiously on the faux granite counter, sipping on a crappy vanilla bean frappuccino, watching the news livestream on his phone.

“The intergalactic peace treaty has been signed and the extraterrestrial leaders are returning home.” Harley sighs in relief.  _ Thank goodness.  _ “Wait. What’s this? There seems to be an unidentified ship approaching.”  _ BANG. BANG. BANG. _

Harley eyes widen in horror as the shaky cameras run from the threat. 

“The Avengers and their fellow extraterrestrial leaders have now engaged in combat with the unidentified threat.”

Footage shot by trembling hands and commentary with quivering voices is the only insight Harley is getting. That is, until the footage cuts out.

Harley looks to his manager with fear.

“You can go to your dorm. Call your family. Cafe’s closed.”

His mother is frantic as is his little sister. They share their “I love you”s and “stay safe”s and Harley is left to stare at the ceiling. 

He groans as he rolls over in bed, staring at the now cold mac and cheese that sits on his desk. Why he grabbed the mac and cheese, he wasn't sure.

No. He was sure. 

It was Freshman year. Peter was hunched over his computer, deep in thought and focus so strong that Harley wasn't sure he would ever break it. He shook his head, huffing in frustration as he slammed his laptop shut and approached the counter.

"Can I have a mac and cheese please?"

Harley nodded. "Of course." When he returned with the steaming bowl, he asked, "Trying something new?"  


"No. I mean, yes. I just, uh, I only eat mac and cheese when I need it."

Harley raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"May was never the best chef, but she did make a mean mac and cheese. Whenever I was feeling down or something bad had happened, she would make a big pot of mac and cheese with Velveeta cheese, and we would just pig out. We had to stop the tradition for a while when I realized I was lactose intolerant, but I, uh, grew out of it, so now I eat mac and cheese again. Continue the tradition."

Harley frowned. "You feeling down?"  


Peter shook his head. "Just stressed. I'm on the verge of a breakthrough but I'm running on empty."

"I know you're not one for the coffees, but I've always found that what wakes me up is something fresh. Want a lemonade with that?"

Peter smiled. "Yeah. But with..."

"No ice. I know."

Harley smiles fondly at the memory. It's a mac and cheese kind of day.

The next days are grueling. News outlets try to calm the masses’ panic and clear up the misconstrued assumptions. “There is no intergalactic war” they say. “Earth is safe” they reassure. It isn’t until the end of the week do they finally set out a livestream of the Avengers announcing that the threat has been “sent back where they came from” and will be “held accountable for their intergalactic crimes” and “will not be coming back any time soon.”

No one feels safe anymore. There’s no way they can. But, they have to go back to their lives.

People begin to trickle back into their routine. Students return to campus, classes begin once more, and the cafe reopens its doors.

Harley, his normal Thursday shift, stares at the clock. It’s almost noon. He knows it’s foolish to have such hope that he’s coming again, but he can’t help but stare at the door, waiting for the familiar chime.

Noon passes. He doesn’t come in.

Harley sighs, turning back around to wipe the counter.

_ Ding. _

He snaps around, eyebrows scrunched at the sight.

Peter, with a cast on his left arm and brace on his right leg, body leaning on a crutch, smiles softly at the blonde. He stumbles to the counter.

“The usual?” Harley asks breathily.

They take a moment to just relish in the company of the other, taking no moment to break eye contact.

"What happened?" Harley whispered.

"It doesn't matter. I'm okay," Peter replied.

"Do you uh, do you want anything? Is it, is it a mac and cheese kind of day?"

“I was actually wondering if you… well I… after everything that’s happened, I realized that we never know when the time we’ve got is goin’ away, so would you, I mean, after your shift, would you like to…”

“Yes.”

Peter chuckles. “You don't even know what I'm asking.”

“Whatever it is, yes.”

“Oh, well, I guess we should hurry, since my kidney transplant is soon and yours are ripe and ready.” At his shocked expression, Peter says, “Kidding. Obviously.” He pulls at his sleeves nervously. “I’m pretty sure Netflix just came out with a new original movie, and I  _ think _ it’s an Americanized live action remake of  _ Sword Art Online _ , so you know it’s gonna be bad. How does picking up some Panda Express and heckling a crappy movie sound?”

Harley grins. “I’d like that a lot.”

“I’ll see you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to chat, my Tumblr is [official-impravidus](official-impravidus.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you want to join a Parkner Discord, click [here!](https://discord.gg/vztSVpg)

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to chat, my Tumblr is [@official-impravidus](official-impravidus.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you want to join a Parkner Discord, click [here!](https://discord.gg/vztSVpg)


End file.
